


The Road Home: The Beginning

by slytherin394



Series: The Road Home: A Series [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 11, Blood and Injury, Gen, Mild Blood, Season/Series 11, Team Free Will, The Road Home-Series, Wayward Daughters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherin394/pseuds/slytherin394
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of the night, three soldiers seek asylum after they survive the battle of their lives. Three women offer it to them. (written by tumblr user ofdreamsandmagic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road Home: The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is the beginning of a series of installments. It is canon compliant all the way up to around the last part of season 11 (somewhere around 11.20), and the season finale is fully ignored. Also, some of the nursing practices depicted here are probably not correct, so don't practice them at home, kids.  
> (writted by tumblr user ofdreamsandmagic)

She didn’t cry when she saw the sole remaining beam of headlight go up her drive. She didn’t cry when the Impala sat in front of her house, running idle for almost ten minutes, as if it was debating whether or not to pull back out and turn around. She didn’t cry as her eyesight adjusted to the late spring night and she could see just how bad the Impala actually looked. She didn’t cry when the car turned off.

 

She wanted to the moment it hit her who was actually driving. But she didn’t allow herself the luxury. She had to keep herself composed for him. He who really shouldn’t be driving. Nothing against him, but he should never be driving, especially that vehicle in particular. 

 

She watched from her front window, curtain pulled back slightly so she could see out. She didn’t open the door, not yet. She didn’t want to imply that she had been waiting worriedly by the door all night for them, despite the fact that she had. They were her kids after all, in a weird way, much like the girl that had joined her by the window was.

 

“Are they okay?” the teen asked in a soft voice, her eyes showing the same guarded concern she herself felt.

 

She sighed. There was no use lying to this one. It never worked. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me much when he called. Just that they were all in rough shape and needed rest.”

 

The teen nodded, pushed some hair behind her ear. “They probably don’t want to see me,” she admitted. “They don’t like me much.”

 

“Honestly, hun,” she admitted, pulling her close and rubbing her shoulder comfortingly, “they probably won’t even notice you’re here at first, even if they stared you dead in the eye. They just walked out of the battle of their lives. And I don’t think they were the same for it.”

 

She didn’t tell her about the way he sounded on the phone. He didn’t just sound tired. He sounded...empty. Like there wasn’t anything left within him other than a beating heart and a (at least functional) brain. She didn’t tell her that she feared that all three would be in varying shades of that state, and that there might be no fixing that. She didn’t tell her that a small part of her was worried she was letting three time bombs into their at least somewhat peaceful home.

 

Instead, she held the girl close to her side as they watched the driver walk over to the passenger door, open it, and help another man out of the car. This one was obviously more wounded, he walked with a very pronounced limp and an arm hung uselessly by his side, but he helped the driver open the back door. Together, they pulled out a third man, this one unconscious on a plank of wood that served as a makeshift stretcher.

 

“Oh, God,” she heard the girl next to her whimper, and she glanced over to see she had gone pale, a closed fist brought close to her mouth in horror. “Oh, God.”

 

Her mouth set in a firm, thin line, professional instinct beginning to kick in with her maternal one. There was a job to do, and that was to keep her boys safe now that they were home. “Claire, sweetie, go on back to Alex’s room and wake her up. We’re going to need help. Are the wards still in place?”

 

“Freshly redone this morning,” Claire nodded. Her voice was still shaky, but she could see the firm determination creep into her eyes. “I’ll go get her now.” With that, she turned on heel, pulled her sweat jacket closer to her pajama-clad frame, and headed up the staircase to get her “sister”.

 

On cue, and ironically polite, the doorbell rang. She muttered a quick prayer under her breath, though experience told her nobody was probably listening, and went to get the door. Her hand hesitated on the doorknob, but a deep breath of courage got her to open it to whatever Hell was waiting on the other side. 

 

“Jody,” the driver greeted too quietly, his voice lower and more gravelly than usual. “Thank you for allowing us to come here. I’m sorry we couldn’t finally meet under better circumstances.”

 

“Don’t say another word, Castiel,” Jody replied softly. Her voice wavered at the sight of them all, but she refused to let it break. “Just come inside. We’ll get you cleaned up.”

 

Castiel nodded and looked over his shoulder at the other conscious man, who was starting to struggle with his end of the wooden plank. The silent signal passed between them, and they carried their third party into her home.

 

She stared at them for a long moment, they who stood there in her foyer holding the stretcher between them with various shades of pain and exhaustion on their faces, and dumbly said, “Why didn’t you take him to the hospital?”

 

“It wasn’t that type of injury,” Castiel explained simply, as if he didn’t have the heart to explain further. “He will come to, in time. For now, he needs a place to rest. We all do.”

 

At that moment, the sound of creaking steps told her that Claire and Alex had rejoined them. “What do you need us to do?” Claire’s voice said from behind her, stronger than her own. It put Jody back into focus. Bless that girl. When it came down to it, she had a pretty tough backbone and a heart of gold.

 

“Lead them to the room I made up down here, so they don’t have to carry him up the stairs,” she ordered. “Alex, I need you to go to the kitchen. There’s some towels in the cabinet drawer by the sink. Pull them out and wet a few of them in lukewarm water. Make sure they aren’t too cold or hot. I’m going to get the bathroom set up for them and look for a medical kit.”

 

Claire and Alex did as told, disappearing in their respective directions. Her boys dutifully followed Claire, and she swore she thought she heard a mumbled ‘thanks’ from the injured one as he passed. 

 

There were two bathrooms in her home. One upstairs, that her and her adoptive daughters usually used and one downstairs that used to be reserved for house guests when she used to have a considerably normal life and family. It was relatively unused now, so it took a few minutes for her to round up towels and spare soap from a closet, set them up, and find the medical kit that was hiding in the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror.

 

As she closed the mirror she stared at herself. She looked more tired than usual, because of her boys, and she worried that if she was feeling this bad how bad they must felt themselves. Probably like they could keel over. And one, she mused darkly, looked like he was about to. She wanted to slap herself for such a thought, but it was there nonetheless.

 

“Jody! I have the towels, what do I do with them?” Alex’s voice carried over from out in the hall. Jody turned on the tap, quickly patted her cheeks and rubbed her eyes with cold water to snap herself back to reality, and rejoined her in the hall.

 

“Follow me, we’ll need them to clean him up, since he can’t do it himself,” she explained, leading the teen back to the spare room. The door was open, allowing a sheath of light to cut across the otherwise dim hall.

 

They entered, feeling a bit cramped, and Jody took in the state of affairs. The plank of wood was leaning against the wall, its occupant now lying on the bed, still dirty and unconscious. His boots had been removed already by someone, and the other two men were staring at him. Claire was frozen, unsure of what her next step was, clearly debating on whether or not she should give orders or follow them.

 

“Jesus, Cas,” Jody sighed, breaking the tense silence. “How did he get like this?”

 

“You don’t want to know,” Castiel responded, not tearing away his gaze to look at her. “You really don’t.”

 

She decided he was right, even though her morbid curiosity demanded otherwise. She cleared her throat. These people depended on her. She depended on herself. “Okay,” she nodded. “Okay. Well, let’s at least get him cleaned up. I know I wouldn’t want to be unconscious covered in filth. Alex, I need you to keep those towels here but I also need you to get a bucket and fill it halfway with warm water. And grab a bar of soap. Claire, I want you to take him out of here,” she gestured to the injured one staring blankly at the bed. “Show him how to work the spare shower. We’ll take a look at his arm after he gets cleaned.” Claire nodded and gently tugged at him, leading him away. Alex had already disappeared and she heard the tap turn on in the kitchen.

 

“Castiel, I need you to help me strip him,” Jody ordered. He obeyed, assisting in lifting various body parts so she could peel the blood and grime covered clothes off. “Do you know what injuries he has other than being unconscious?”

“He was hit with debris,” Castiel explained as they worked together to get the stiff jeans off. “And was thrown against various items such as walls and, at one point, a metal pole. I wouldn’t be surprised if he broke a few things and if there’s a lot of internal hemorrhaging.”

 

“Do you have the Grace to heal that? Otherwise I will need to take him to the ER.”

 

He grimaced. “I should. But...he needs to be clean first. I have to get him clean first. He needs to be clean again.”

 

There was an odd, unnatural insistence to that, something Jody felt was best if it went uncommented upon, so she wisely didn’t. Alex returned shortly after with the requested supplies, eyes bulging as she noticed the near naked man on the bed.

 

Jody rolled her own eyes as she picked up a damp towel. “Nothing I’m sure you haven’t seen before, Alex.” She passed the towel to her and grabbed one for Castiel and herself. “Find a body part and scrub it clean. Be gentle. He shouldn’t wake based on what Castiel said but I don’t want to risk it anyway.”

 

“Doesn’t he need a doctor?” Alex questioned, reluctantly walking over to an arm and beginning to wipe at it pathetically.

 

Jody began scrubbing at one of his legs, taking the bar of soap and lathering his skin as she did so to clean the tougher grime off him. “No. Castiel can fix him.” 

 

It took roughly twenty minutes to clean him up. They never needed to remove his underwear, and neither Claire nor his brother came in to join them during the clean up. Once they were done, Castiel told them to leave.

 

“Why?” Alex asked, a tad on the sharp side.

 

“Because I refuse to heal him around the two of you, let alone anyone else,” Castiel growled out, the underlying fierce protection within him finally starting to show. If the room seemed to crackle with energy, Jody coughed it up to a sudden bout of random nerves. His blue eyes were narrowed dangerously at the two of them, and she vaguely wondered if there was something else wrong with the man on the bed Castiel wouldn’t tell them about.

 

“Come on, sweetie,” Jody said, picking up the bucket. The clean water in it had been replaced by sudsy red liquid. She’d need to be careful when dumping it. “Let’s get this stuff cleaned away.”

 

They had to pass the spare bathroom as they retreated to the kitchen, and that’s where they found Claire sitting against that door, head leaning against it and arms wrapped loosely around her drawn up knees. Jody could hear the shower running on the other side, but no other noises.

 

“What’s going on here?” she asked, pausing briefly. Alex paused too, and looked at her sister with matching concern.

 

“I don’t trust him,” Claire said in a low voice, so she couldn’t be heard on the other side of the door. “There was a look to his eyes. Unhinged. I’ve seen that look before in other people. They did crazy things. I’m scared he’s going to do crazy things. So I’m watching him.”

 

“He’s a grown man, Claire,” Jody replied, although she didn’t believe her own words. “He’ll be okay to shower on his own. Come on, help us clean everything up.”

 

The three women went into the kitchen and Jody very carefully carried the bucket out the backdoor and dumped the water in a corner of the yard. Together, the three of them worked on handwashing the towels, dowsing them in liberal amounts of detergent and bleach.

 

They didn’t hear him approach, but they did feel it, somehow. At once, the three of them turned to see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a towel around his waist. Water dripped from his longer hair and began to form a small puddle on the tile floor. “I couldn’t find spare clothes,” he said in a softer than usual tone. 

 

If Claire and Alex subconsciously licked their lips, Jody nor he commented on it. Instead, the impromptu mother turned to her girls. “Run out to the Impala. There should be some duffel bags in the trunk. Bring them in so he can change his clothes. I’ll work on his shoulder.”

 

They abandoned the semi-clean towels and squeezed by him to go out the door. After they heard the door close, Jody turned to him. “Come into the living room and sit on the couch. I’ll set your shoulder. It looks dislocated.”

 

He nodded and padded silently to the couch, sitting on the edge. She handed him one of the unused towels for him to bite on. “Sit still. I’ll do it on the count of three. One...two…”

 

Before she said three, she pushed his dislocated shoulder in place. He bit out a cry of pain into the towel and rubbed his now repaired shoulder. “I’ll grab you some ibuprofen,” she promised. “And as soon as the girls return inside you can change.”

 

He nodded and put some wet hair behind his ear. “Thank you, Jody,” he whispered hoarsely. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what--.”

 

Before he could finish his statement there was a sudden commotion from the back of the house. A scream. A hoarse, hoarse scream, as if the vocal chords had been ripped out.

The girls reentered at that moment, and froze in the threshold in mute horror as they listened. The taller, younger brother went to get up at the call, panic stricken, but a firm hand on his weak shoulder kept him in place.

 

“Sam!” 

 

As suddenly as it started, the screaming stopped.

 

Jody looked ceilingward, counting back from ten, pressing her frustration out into Sam’s shoulder. She prayed silently that whatever Castiel was doing to Dean it was helping more than it was hurting.

 

This was going to be the first of many long nights. She could tell.

 

Alex and Claire silently set the duffels down in the middle of the floor, closed the front door, and walked over to her, resting a hand on each of her shoulders reassuringly.

 

Thank God for those girls. She didn’t know if she could do this without them. It was going to be a long road to recovery.

 

If they could get there at all.


End file.
